Title: Crème Brûlée

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Rating: M

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Alastair/Dean

Words: 1,167

Genre: Angst/Romance

Summary: Alastair wanted Dean more than a child wanted an ice cream sundae heaping with whipped cream and cherries. However, he knew that his skin would taste better than sugar. Slave AU.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

A/N: Due to the ratings on this site, my AO3 account has the slightly more graphic version. My AO3 account is listed on my profile.

The collar stayed on Dean's neck like a good little boy. Even thinking about removing it seemed like a punishable offense.

Dean was in currently engaged in thoroughly washing Alastair's touch dirty touch from his skin until he felt clean. Until he defiled him again.

Tired of feeling naked and vulnerable, Dean searched for new clothes and moaned in frustration when he couldn't find anything...normal. No denim jeans. No t-shirts. No casual clothes from off the rack at all. All he had were clothes designed for the prep school students that usually got their ass kicked by people like him.

Finally, he settled on a navy blue t-shirt without buttons and black Dockers. Dean saw no point in dressing nice like this, but it was the best he could do. There was no employee of the month award after all.

All of a sudden, the door opened, and Dean's mouth went dry. Was Alastair back? Dean spun around to only to face Meg again. She had returned with more food and unfortunately noticed his collar immediately.

She smirked. "Cute."

"Aww, you think so. Why don't you wear one?"

"I have." The cart stopped rolling.

Dean wondered if she was lying. Did Alastair's taste include women? It would explain why her psychology was so screwed up. Still, Dean felt no sympathy for her. He had to feel sympathy for himself.

"Any chance of helping me?"

"Nada."

Dean wasn't surprised. But, instead of clamming up, he decided to continue chatting. He was so tired of only himself for company. They were both trapped same world after all.

"Do you live here?"

Meg seemed mildly surprised. As such, she was slow to answer. "Sometimes here. Sometimes, I go back to my apartment."

"Aren't you lucky to go back to the real world?" Dean mocked with just the right amount of bitterness he intended.

Meg had no retort for him, so he kept talking.

"What's under the lid?"

"Salmon."

Dean made a face. "I hate fish."

"Take it up with the boss. There's also French onion soup and crème brulee for dessert. I don't know if you like those."

"I love dessert."

"So does Alastair." Meg remarked snidely.

The venom of her tone stung of him before he moved on. She wouldn't get the best of him.

"Why doesn't he just find a boyfriend who's into kinky stuff?"

Meg shrugged. "Ask him."

As if Alastair would provide with him with an answer.

"If you want to talk, you may be in luck. Crowley is curious about you."

"The guy in black? What's his deal?"

Dean remembered him. He had brought Alastair his instruments of pain. Dean didn't like him.

"He's Alastair's go-to guy. He disappears for long periods of time because he goes away on business a lot."

"Doing what?"

Meg shook her head as she placed the serving tray on the table. "I have to go."

"Alastair runs you ragged." Dean observed.

"It's what I'm paid to do."

"We should watch a movie here sometime." he called after her retreating form. Dean figured that it was smart to keep on someone's good side.

"I don't think so," Meg replied flatly.

She left.

Again, Dean was left staring at four walls. Suppressing a yawn, he ate what he could before he laid down on the bed and promptly fell asleep. He didn't know how long he had been napping when he heard the door fly open once more.

Dean grew tense when he saw Alastair walking through the doorway. He never knew what to expect from him.

He smiled. "You've eaten, and the collar's still on. It proves you're listening. Quite an improvement."

With growing unease, Dean watched as Alastair walked around the room. He resembled a monster prowling around in his lair. Dean's stomach was in knots. He knew that he couldn't stop him from doing anything. If he attacked him, Alastair would set the entire household on his ass.

"I think I'll sleep here tonight," his master announced.

Wonderful.

So, Dean was forced to endure Alastair sliding next to his prone body and stay still as Alastair possessively wrapped his arms around him. Dean knew that he wasn't going to prevent his wandering hands, and he could predict already that he wasn't going to have a nice sleep. Alastair clung to his property like a rock in a storm. Dean didn't want to cuddle, but he didn't dare slide out of his arms. Eventually, he blacked out into unconsciousness.

"Did you sleep well, lover?" His voice was in his ear.

Dean didn't answer him. Instead, Alastair's hands drifted lower until Dean's personal space violated. He didn't want him touching there.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"If you want to," Dean answered with effort.

Fucking leave.

"I'll send someone up with breakfast."

At least Alastair wouldn't let him starve to death. He imagined himself with manacles around his wrists in a cold drafty dungeon. Dean guessed that Alastair was the modern sort of villain.

"But, first, I want a kiss."

Alastair roughly turned Dean to face him before gripping his hair. He bent his head down low.

"You know what I want, baby. Do I have to show you?"

Dean was brought face to face with Alastair's manhood. It was as if he wanted him to venerate it. He knew what Alastair wanted. Dean really didn't want to perform this act, but knew that he had no other option.

This was wrong. Dean knew it, but he couldn't escape from it.

With bile rising up into his throat, Dean dutifully took Alastair into his mouth until he finished. Dean gagged.

"Good boy." Alastair chuckled.

Dean wanted to reach up and choke him.

The older man got to his feet. "I have business to attend to most of the day, but I'll be sure to return at night."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Dean was shaking with rage. Alastair had taken his pleasure and just...left him. Left him and used him like a cheap slut. He was angry. So angry at himself for his weakness.

"Motherfucker!"

Out of nowhere, he punched the wall. Dean felt could wreck the room if he wanted to. However, he knew there would be hell to pay

The reality smacked him across the face. This wasn't a sumptuous suite after all.

It was a prison cell.

"Been a while since I hit the bar scene."

Castiel frowned. "This is an investigation and not an opportunity for leisure."

"Just a joke."

He was never one for jokes or fooling around. Castiel found that they interfered with his work.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I still don't have anything to wear though. I might stick out."

"We'll go shopping then."

It dawned on Castiel that he had nothing in his closet either.

"I'm going to wear my blazer."

Castiel groaned inwardly. Bobby felt more of an attachment to that particular piece of clothing than what was considered healthy.

Right now, Castiel mused over buying a leather jacket.